Lynn Vieh - His Lordship Possessed

I sat down behind my desk and used my letter dagger to slice off the seal and remove a single sheet of thin silver vellum folded in thirds.

The paper exuded a faint scent of ripe peaches, which made me smile a little. Who would have guessed the most powerful deathmage in all of Toriana had such an infatuation with fruit?

Charmian,

Come to dinner tonight and you may have some.

Dredmore

P.S. Please.

Two of my former clients had sent referrals, one for a haunted carri, and the other to remove some wardlings that had become wedged in a door frame. Rumsen Main must have missed those; upon learning from an anonymous source that nearly all of the talismans in the city were counterfeits containing a very dangerous raw stone, the cops had been very busy confiscating and smashing them.

I penned a message to the desk sergeant at Rumsen Main, attached the referral to it, and got up to send it by tube, only to stop as the sign painter’s apprentice opened the door.

“Gent to see you, miss.” He stepped aside as the gent strode in.

Fair-haired and average-sized, Thomas Doyle wore his plainclothesman’s long trench and low-brim. Past his shoulder I saw a beater in dark blue hovering in the hallway.

The inspector doffed his hat, revealing the tough, wind-weathered features and sun-faded blue eyes of a former navyman. “Forgive the intrusion, madam—”

“It’s miss, To—ah, sir.” Barely remembering that to him this would be our first meeting, I sat down behind my desk. “And you are?”

“Inspector Thomas Doyle, Rumsen Station. I’m here to speak to Mr. Kittredge,” he told me. “If he’s stepped out, I can wait.”

“You’ll wait for a very long time, then, as there is no Mr. Kittredge. I am the proprietor.” I held out my hand. “Miss Kittredge.”

He gave me a firm but gentle handshake as he inspected my features. “Surely not Charmian Kittredge of Middleway?”

“Guilty as charged.” I pretended to study him back. “Would you be related to the Middleway Doyles?”

“I am. I believe we played together as children, at my grandfather Arthur’s home.”

I smiled. “I believe we did.”

He paid closer attention to my face. “I haven’t seen you in years, not since you were a gel, but still you look . . . familiar.”

“I haven’t changed all that much. Mostly taller.” I folded my hands in front of me. “Now how can I help the Yard, Inspector?”

“We received a report of some fake wardlings needing collection, but my men are having some trouble removing them. Our staff warder, Mary Harris, recommended Kittredge of Disenchanted & Co.” He glanced over at the door. “But I see you’ve a partner now as well.”

I smiled a little. “Yes, he’s just joined the firm. Unfortunately he works nights, so you’ll have to settle for me, if that’s acceptable.”

“Of course.” He seemed a little embarrassed. “We’d appreciate any help you can give.”

“Let me get my cloak and keys.” I stood up and went to the rack.

On our way out, I inspected the sign painter’s progress:

HARRY MERLI

“Very nice lettering.”

“We’ll have it done before you get back, miss.” He nodded toward the glass. “Then you and Mr. Merlin will be in business.”

The only name on the cover of a book is the author’s, and sometimes I wish I could change that. It took nearly four years to make this novel happen, and while I’ve rarely worked as long or as hard to get something into print, with this one I never fought alone. Since I can’t give everyone who had my back a byline, I’ll offer them instead my gratitude:

Tim Kim and all the wonderful folks at National Novel Writing Month and the Office of Letters and Light, who provided me with motivation for writing this story, and followed up that with unstinting support and enthusiasm. What you do for writers and kids all over the globe is nothing short of miraculous.

The readers of Paperback Writer , who cheered me on while I was working on the first draft, and all of my readers out there who have followed this journey with enthusiasm and encouragement. You are a constant joy and true blessing in my writing life.

New York Times bestselling authors Gail Carriger and Larissa Ione, whose generosity and kind words kept me going even when things fell apart completely. Ladies, I will never forget that.

New York Times bestselling author Darlene Ryan, who has been there for me in so many ways that it would take another three pages to list them all. Dust bunnies will never be safe again, and Bubba, you rock.

I wouldn’t be able to write anything without the support of my guy or our kids, but for this book they went above and beyond, and for four long years never once complained. I love you, and you are my heart.

The art department, copyediting, and production teams at Pocket Star, who collectively have done magical things for this novel. I know how lucky I am to have you, and I hope you all know how grateful I am, too.

There’s one more person whose name should be on the cover of this book, and I saved him for last because if I could I’d put it there in fifty-point font right now. For believing in me and this story, for fighting for it (twice), for restoring my faith in the creative partnership between publishers and authors, for being so damn good at what he does, and for giving me this marvelous opportunity to bring Disenchanted & Co. into our world, I’d like to thank my editor, Adam Wilson.

abstainers:

religious agnostics

across the pond:

When in Toriana, a reference to Great Britain or Europe; when in Great Britain or Europe a reference to Toriana (“pond” being the Atlantic Ocean)

aid-solicitor:

legal representative provided by the Crown to defendants who can’t afford to hire a barrister

ambrotype:

photography that uses chemicals (silverblack) to etch images on glass plate negatives

annum:

year

apothecary:

pharmacy

Aramantha:

the island homeland of the Aramanthan, destroyed by mysterious forces that caused it to break up and sink beneath the sea

Aramanthans:

a race of superhuman magic practitioners who ruled the world before the rise of mankind

bacco:

tobacco

barrister:

attorney

bathboy:

a male attendant/masseur who works at public baths for women

beater:

a uniformed police officer who patrols the streets, usually on foot

believer:

someone who believes in magic

belowground:

beneath street level

binding:

a stone or other object that can contain psychic energy until its release is triggered by touch or proximity

black:

very strong, thrice-brewed tea

blackpot:

a coal-fueled boiler

blacks:

formal suit worn by high-class male servants

bloodbane:

one of the highly toxic magic poisons used in snuffballs

blower:

a chamber that uses air leached from the city’s tubes to dry wet items

blue ruin:

gin

blues:

people of aristocratic birth

bookmaker:

printer

braves:

warrior class of native Torian people

BrewsMaid: